Gingko Walk
by grayseeker
Summary: It might be the eve of Cybertron's holiday festival, but Scavenger is in no mood to celebrate. When he's forced to flee the base for refusing an order, he strikes out into the wilderness of Chaar in a quest to find his muse. Along the way, he forges a deepening friendship with an unlikely guide.
1. Resolutions

**AN:** This story was written for the Transformers Flash Challenge: December Edition. Each chapter is based on a prompt from the challenge and will be exactly 500 words (give or take, since every website seems to calculate wordcounts a bit differently). _Gingko Walk_ is a sequel to _Keepsake of my Starless Beloved,_ but you should be able to follow what's happening even if you haven't read it. (Of course I'd love it if you _did_ read it, and left a review, but I digress. ;-) Enjoy!

* * *

 **Resolutions:** In which Scavenger disgraces himself.

Scavenger's tanks grumbled as he edged closer to the table, hoping to snag an oilcake or perhaps some mulled energon. He could tell that it wasn't going to be much of a celebration. Mixmaster had done his usual magic and made everything look and smell delicious, but the "feast" the Constructicons had cobbled together for the Festival of Rebirth wouldn't have filled a slarg's nest. That was all right with Scavenger. He didn't feel much like celebrating anyway.

He reached for the nearest platter, but Bonecrusher slapped his hand away. "Paws off, greedy-pants!"

"I'm _hungry_!"

"We all are. You still have to wait until we pour the lead and make our resolutions."

Scavenger wanted to punch him, but instead grabbed an oilcake.

"Scavenger! Give that back right _now_ , or—"

"You want it?" Scavenger retracted his mask and popped the delicacy into his mouth. "Come an' geth it!"

"Why you… rotten! Ungrateful! _Intolerable_ little—"

"Younglings!" Hook cut in. "Please, desist! Such infantile squabbling is hardly in the spirit of the season."

" _Theason_?" Scavenger spat, still chewing. "The fraggin' _theason_ can go sthuff ithelf right up ith leaky ol'—"

"Scavenger!" Scrapper barked. Scavenger froze, expecting a reprimand, but the look of concern that his team leader was giving instead was somehow worse. "What's gotten into you lately?"

Scavenger gulped the oilcake down. "You guys really wanna know? _Really_? Well I'll tell you! It's—"

The door to their warren, which he was standing directly in front of, swung open. A gust of cold air blew in, and Scavenger saw his teammates stiffen. Turning, he saw Cyclonus in the doorway flanked by Scourge, Dirge, and a pair of Sweeps. Cyclonus' gaze swept around the room and lingered briefly on their feast table, his lip curling with distaste. Scavenger felt a fresh stab of dislike for him.

"Constructicons," Cyclonus announced. "I have brought the plans for Galvatron's throne room. The site is selected, and work is to begin immediately." He gestured, and a Sweep stepped forward with a datapad.

"But the festival," Scrapper said. "We were just about to—"

"You _dare_ question an order?"

"No, just..." Scrapper glanced at their table, then sighed. "Fine." He took the datapad and held it out to Scavenger. "You start digging the foundation, Scav, and we'll—"

Scavenger crossed his arms. "No."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me!"

"That was an _order_ , Scavenger. If you don't—"

"No!" Scavenger smashed the datapad to the floor, where it shattered. "I'm _not_ building a throne room for Galvatron!"

"But we must! He is our leader."

"Maybe he's _your_ leader," Scavenger said fiercely, "but he definitely isn't mine!"

"Scavenger! You don't mean that."

"I do, from the bottom of my spark! He is not! My! Leader!" Scavenger whirled and stormed into the street, half expecting a shot in the back. None came, but he heard running footsteps. He turned, wearily raising his gun, and saw that it was Dirge.

Dirge held up his hands. In a low voice, he said, "Do not shoot."


	2. Forest for the Trees

**Forest for the Trees:** In which Scavenger realizes that a day spent in exile means a day off work! And he knows just how he wants to spend it.

* * *

Dirge raised his rifle.

"I thought we were friends," Scavenger said bitterly, as he heard the weapon charging.

"We are. Now scream."

Dirge fired. The shot went over Scavenger's shoulder, close enough to blister his finish. Scavenger stumbled backward, yelping in terror as a barrage of shots followed. Dirge then opened his chest compartment to reveal the row of missiles that were housed there.

"Run."

Scavenger did, and a missile obliterated one of the dilapidated buildings in front of him. He veered down an alley where he crashed to his knees, whimpering. Dirge was faster than he was, and much better armed. Without his team to protect him, he didn't stand a chance if Dirge decided to—

Strong hands were prying his own from his face. "Are you all right?"

Scavenger gulped. Dirge was kneeling in front of him, his weapons powered down. His expression was one of unnerving concern, and for some reason, that made Scavenger angry.

"What the frag was that?" he snarled, surging to his feet. "Are you trying to give me a spark attack? I oughta—"

Dirge slammed him against a wall and clamped a hand over his mouth. "Shh! Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?"

Scavenger stared, wide-opticked, and finally shook his head. Dirge released his mouth.

"I had to convince Cyclonus that you had been punished," he explained. "I offered to deal with the 'infidel.' He seemed to appreciate that phrasing."

Scavenger snorted. "He would." In a lower voice, he said, "Thanks."

"It is what friends do." Dirge stepped away, but caught Scavenger's arm again when he started toward the warren. "You can't go back."

He was right.

Scavenger dropped his gaze. "I acted like a fool, didn't I?"

Dirge grunted. "Possibly."

"It's just…" Scavenger wrapped his arms around himself, pulling his shovel-tail tightly against his back in a habitual gesture of self-protection. "I haven't written a poem in orns. Not since that one I wrote after Starscream…" he couldn't say the word. "And now they want me to built a throne that impostor! The mech who… who…"

"Murdered him?"

Scavenger whirled toward Dirge."You can't say _that_! It's… it's treason."

"It is the truth. Though one that it would be unwise to say aloud." He paused. "You should disappear, Scavenger. For at least a solar."

"A whole _solar_?"

"Time enough for Cyclonus time to remember that Devastator needs his right arm."

A whole solar. Without duties. Without orders. Without obligations of any kind. Scavenger glanced toward the mountains beyond the edge of the ruined city. "Maybe I could do a gingko walk."

"A what?"

Scavenger flinched. He hadn't meant to say that aloud. "It's an Earth tradition. Human poets who can't write go into the wilderness for inspiration. I've heard there's a forest in those mountains."

"Yes. I have seen it from the air."

Scavenger balled his fists. "Then that's where I'm going," he said firmly. He took a few steps, but then glanced back. "Dirge?"

"Aye?"

"Would you… come with me?"

* * *

A gingko walk is a haiku tradition in which poets undertake a meditative walk in order to gain inspiration from nature. When I first heard of the tradition, I _knew_ that I just had to send Scavvie on one.


	3. First Snow

**First Snow:** In which Scavenger learns that getting Dirge to join his quest was the _easy_ part.

* * *

"Is this journey not one that a poet should make alone?"

"Yes, but…" Scavenger was staring at the mountains. "I heard there's… _things_ up there."

"Things?"

"Giant spiders." Scavenger shuddered.

"I have heard such stories. If you wish me to accompany you, I will."

Scavenger sighed in relief. "Thank you."

They crossed the ruins, keeping to the alleyways. The mountains grew darker and more forbidding as they walked, and Scavenger's gaze was increasingly drawn to the junk piled between the buildings.

"Maybe I could just do my gingko walk here," he said, pausing near a particularly large, enticing pile. "I've explored all the trash heaps near the warren, but these are new, and—"

Dirge tugged him away. "The mountains will be safer."

"But giant spiders," Scavenger reminded him.

"Still less dangerous than Galvatron."

"Good point."

At the city's edge, Dirge steered him toward a deep, narrow gorge that slashed up the mountainside. The terrain grew rougher as they climbed, and eventually they came to a valley filled with pale, twisted things that might once have been trees.

"Here we are," Dirge said.

"Where's here?"

"The forest."

Scavenger frowned. "This isn't a forest, it's…" He walked up to the nearest "tree" and rapped it with his knuckles. "It's stone." He did a sensor-scan of the valley. "They _all_ are."

"A petrified forest will not lead to inspiration?"

"I don't know, I…" Scavenger sighed. He trudged back to Dirge and sank down, staring out over Chaar's blasted landscape. "I hate this world. Everything's dead. I should have known better than to think I could find inspiration here."

"I am sorry." Dirge sank down beside him. "I am accustomed to dead places. I suppose I have made some peace with them."

"It's all right. You didn't know."

They watched in silence as the cold, distant sun sank below the horizon. Black clouds swept in, making the world seem even darker and more ashen than before, though a few, scattered stars still pierced the gloom.

"Star of wonder, star of night," Scavenger quoted softly. "Star with royal beauty bright. Westward leading, still proceeding; guide us to thy perfect light."

"That's lovely."

"It's an Earth song. It reminds me of Starscream."

"He was far from perfect, but I understand why it reminds you of him."

When the clouds had blotted out the stars, making the darkness complete, Dirge rose.

"We should find shelter for the night. My topographic charts indicate a cavern at the far side of the valley." Dirge extended a hand, which Scavenger took without hesitation. How had he ever believed the rumors about Dirge's touch causing death? It was beyond him now. Maybe the stories he'd heard about these mountains were also just stories.

Something brushed the back of his neck.

He yelped in fright and spun around, weapon raised. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

Scavenger scanned the darkness, but saw nothing until he thought to switch his optics to infrared. What he saw made him gasp in surprise.

"It's… snowing!"


	4. Warm Drinks

**Warm Drinks:** In which Dirge and Scavenger debate the existence of Primus, while drinking Vosian Mead.

* * *

"Snowing?" Dirge glanced upward, then laughed. It was a startling sound, coming from him, and the delighted smile that accompanied the laugh made him look shockingly young. "It is… pretty," he added after a moment, sounding embarrassed.

"It is!" Scavenger spun around, laughing without quite knowing why. The flakes were swirling down through the dark air and settling on the branches of the stone trees. The snowfall softened the edges of the ruined landscape, giving it a peaceful, almost ethereal air. "It's beautiful," he added. "Like angel wings."

"Angel wings?" Dirge asked.

"Yeah. Angels are like human Seekers. They've got wings and everything. Some play trumpets, like me, and some even have flaming swords!"

"Really? Strange that I have never seen one."

"Me either," Scavenger admitted, "but I've seen pictures."

He'd seen them in an old Earth book that he'd found on a junk heap. It was one of the items he'd been forced to leave behind when the Decepticons had fled Cybertron, but he'd committed those images to memory.

"Perhaps an extinct sub-species," Dirge mused. "Or else mythological in nature."

"You don't think angels exist?" Scavenger asked. For some reason, the thought was disappointing.

Dirge's expression softened. "I could not say. But I do think it would be wise to find shelter." He gestured with his helm. "The cavern is this way."

They followed a winding path through the glittering forest, until they came to a cavern at the far side of the valley. Dirge ignited a lumen and shone its beam into the dark entrance. "Is this all right?"

"It's all right with me." Scavenger plopped down just inside the entrance, his legs sticking out. His tanks growled. "I'm _still_ hungry."

"I am too." Dirge sat beside him, rummaged in his subspace, and brought out a thermal flask. Fragrant steam wafted out when he uncapped it. "Would you like some?"

"What is it?"

"Vosian mead. Seekers drink it to celebrate the Festival of Rebirth. It's flavored with memory-metal alloys, recalling the legend of Primus' restoration to life after his final battle against Unicron."

"Guess it wasn't as final as we'd hoped," Scavenger muttered. He took a sip, and sighed as the copper-and-nickel-spiced energon drink spread a warm glow through his internals. "Do you believe in Primus?" he asked suddenly.

Dirge smiled. "Of course."

"Guess you'd have to, being a priest and all." Scavenger stared at his toe-caps, which were quickly turning white under a dusting of snow. "Would it bother you if I said I don't, anymore?"

Dirge shook his head. "I understand. Though I would also say that it is at times like this that His children need Him most."

"We needed him all right," Scavenger said, scowling, "but where was he?"

"Here." Dirge put a hand over his spark. "To find Him, we must look inward."

"Well I need more than that!" Scavenger said, kicking the snow. "I need a sign that he really exists!"

"Pray for one," Dirge suggested. "And don't drink all the mead."

* * *

Thanks to silberstreif for suggesting the idea of Vosian Mead. I think it sounds delicious! :-)


	5. Blankets

**Blankets:** In which Dirge and Scavenger share blankets, body heat, and thoughts about the nature of existence. Not necessarily in that order.

* * *

Scavenger took another sip before passing the flask back to Dirge. The mead was doing little more than blunt the edge of his hunger, but it had a mildly intoxicating effect that was helping ease his discomfort, if only a little.

"How _do_ you pray?" he asked.

"I become quiet inside," Dirge replied, gazing out into the swirling darkness beyond the mouth of the cavern. "Then I listen for the voice of my spark."

"Your spark has a _voice_?"

"In a way, though it does not speak in words. It is better described as a knowing."

"Knowing of what?"

"Of… Him. His presence."

Scavenger frowned. "You think Primus lives inside your spark?"

Dirge smiled. "Not exactly. I believe that all sparks are connected to Him, which is what is meant by the saying, 'Until All Are One.'"

"I don't believe that."

"No?"

"It would mean that the Autobots are part of us."

"Yes."

"And _Galvatron_ , and maybe even Unicron."

"Yes. Possibly even Unicron." Dirge's tone was thoughtful. "The Devourer of Worlds is said to be the antithesis of Primus, yet perhaps he is simply a different aspect of the same force."

Scavenger shook his head. "That's way beyond me."

"And me," Dirge agreed.

"Aren't priests supposed to _know_ all this stuff?"

"These things are probably unknowable," Dirge replied. "Yet speaking for myself, I find it comforting to think that those we have lost are still, in a sense, within us."

"Starscream," Scavenger said, realizing what he meant.

"Aye."

"And—" Scavenger darted him a sidelong glance. "Your mate, and your sparkling."

Dirge dipped his helm in a nod. "Aye."

Scavenger blew out a sigh. "You must miss them a lot."

"I do."

They finished the flask in silence, and then Dirge found a flat, sandy area deeper inside the cavern. He lay down, drew a thermal blanket from his subspace and draped it over himself.

"I have an extra blanket, if you need one."

"I've got one." Scavenger always carried a blanket, just in case. He lay down and wrapped it around himself, but was soon shivering. "Dirge?"

"Aye?"

"Can I…?" Scavenger rolled toward him but then paused, faceplates heating as he realized how this might sound. "I'm not trying to… you know. Just… Bonecrusher and I sometimes lie together to keep warm."

Dirge draped his blanket over Scavenger and folded an arm around him. "I do not mind."

Scavenger burrowed close. This would have been unthinkable just a few orns ago, but now it seemed completely natural. "Thanks."

"Any time."

Scavenger's face warmed further at the implication, but then it occurred to him that Dirge, being a pariah among Decepticons, probably _never_ had anyone to sleep with like this. Except, of course, for Starscream, who had never believed the rumors. But Starscream was gone.

"Dirge?"

"Aye."

Scavenger slipped his arm around him and gave him a shy hug.

"I'm glad you're here."

"As am I."

It was too dark to tell if Dirge was smiling, but Scavenger thought he was.

* * *

If you're curious about Dirge's prior relationship with Starscream or the reason why he's considered a pariah by most other Decepticons, check out my story **_Untouchable_**. If you'd like to know more about Dirge's past, including the loss of his mate and their unborn sparkling, check out **_The Deathtouch_** and **_Keepsake of My Starless Beloved_**. All these stories are part of my ongoing _Raven and Scarab_ series.


	6. Angel With a Shotgun

**Angel With a Shotgun:** In which a rude awakening leads to a startling realization.

* * *

Scavenger woke to the internal screech of his bio-sensors telling him that his fuel levels were critically low. That was not unusual. He'd grown used to such warnings since leaving Cybertron. What _was_ unusual was the thick scent of energon hanging in the cold air. Was he... _bleeding_?

He sat up—or tried to. His body wasn't moving properly. His limbs felt as if they were encased in something that was restricting his movements. It took a concerted effort to free one hand and reach across himself to touch his other arm. His fingers encountered something rope-like, that shifted when he touched it, almost as if it was… _alive_. He was on his feet within astroseconds.

"Dirge! Dirge, wake up!"

There was a low groan, then a click. Light spilled from the lumen that Dirge was holding up, and Scavenger finally saw what he was covered in. Hundreds of dark, worm-like creatures had attached themselves to his frame and were sucking his energon.

"Arrgh! Leeches!" He spun in a circle, desperately trying to shake them off.

Dirge raised his weapon. "Scavenger, hold still!"

Scavenger wasn't listening. He bolted toward what he thought was the exit, but it turned out to be a tunnel leading deeper into the mountain. Footsteps were pounding in the corridor behind him and he could hear Dirge shouting his name, but he couldn't stop. He tripped, crashed against an unseen wall, and kept going.

Suddenly, Dirge's voice seemed to shake the cavern.

"Scavenger!"

Scavenger froze. Perhaps it was due to Dirge's Sigma ability to evoke fear, or perhaps it was a subconscious reaction to a subtle shift in the air pressure and the way that sound traveled in the darkness, but some instinct made him switch his optics to infrared. He was standing on a narrow strip of stone above an abyss. Around him was a delicate network of stone filaments, like a spider's web, which stretched across the chasm and was all that stood between him and the yawning void that seemed to plunge straight down to the planet's core.

"Don't look down," Dirge ordered. "Look at me, and hold very still."

He raised his weapons. Scavenger opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. The lasers struck with precision, shearing the leeches off with surgical ease, and Scavenger tried not to glance after them as they tumbled from his frame and were swallowed by the pit. He kept his gaze fixed on Dirge, who was standing with feet apart, his wings flared and his features set in a look of granite determination.

He was surprisingly... well, not _beautiful_ , Scavenger thought. Not exactly. At least, not in the way that Starscream had been, though just now, he looked like one of the angels from that book. A fierce, protective kind of angel. The kind of angel who would carry a flaming sword.

Then something—a shadow within a shadow—moved in the corridor behind Dirge.

"Behind you!" Scavenger yelled.

It was too late.


	7. Here's Your Sign

**Here's Your Sign:** In which Scavenger finds his way back to the stars.

* * *

Two segmented tentacles shot from the mouth of the corridor and wrapped around Dirge. He grunted with surprise, and one of his guns misfired as he was yanked off his feet. The energy bolt hit the ceiling, dislodging chunks of rock which rained down around Scavenger, knocking away pieces of the web. An ominous crack echoed through the cavern, but Scavenger wasn't listening. He was running back toward the tunnel entrance as fast as his legs would take him.

"Dirge!"

He threw himself into the darkness, and was instantly transfixed by glowing yellow eyes. Beyond them, a moving nightmare of legs, fangs and antennae were all focused the singular goal of dragging a bound, struggling Dirge toward a gaping mouth ringed with fangs.

 _So the stories are true_ , Scavenger thought. Chaar's mountains really were inhabited by monsters.

"Scavenger!" Dirge shouted. "Run!"

Scavenger wanted to. Every hard-wired instinct in his processor was screaming for him to do exactly as Dirge had suggested, but he couldn't walk away. But what _could_ he do? The only weapon he had was his one small pistol. His raised it and fired. The bolt struck between the yellow eyes, but the monster didn't flinch. It shuffled toward Scavenger instead, dragging Dirge along beneath it. It raised its foreclaws, poised to strike—and reality shifted.

Scavenger was again at the Hall of Heroes, in Darkmount, gazing up at Starscream on the podium. He watched, again, as the terrible corona of light faded. Starscream was still on his feet, charred but alive, optics still alight. _He's okay!_ Scavenger had thought. The intruder hadn't been able to harm him. But of course nothing could; he was Starscream, invincible! Scavenger had almost laughed—and then Starscream's face had crumbled away.

 _No._

The thought rose between one sparkbeat and the next. He'd been standing right next to Galvatron. He could have spoiled his shot, or tried to, but instead he'd just let it happen. Starscream wasn't dead because of Galvatron. He was dead because of _him_. That would never happen again. Maybe he wasn't strong, or well armed, or particularly brave, but he would do what he could.

He lunged, transforming, his treads spitting gravel as he rolled forward and drove his shovel straight into the spider's face.

The creature recoiled with a rattling hiss. Its tentacles loosened, and Dirge scrambled free. He threw himself at Scavenger, who transformed and caught him. They rushed to the mouth of the tunnel just in time to see a large section of the web shatter and drop away.

"Slag!" Scavenger glanced back and saw that the spider was now shambling toward them. He took aim with his gun, but Dirge nudged his arm.

"Look up."

Glancing up, Scavenger saw that there was now a gap in the cavern ceiling, and the stars were shining through.

"There's your sign."

"But—I didn't pray!"

"But you were courageous. Can you fly?"

Scavenger engaged his antigravs. "Yes."

Dirge caught his arm, and they rose toward the stars.


	8. Silent Night

**Silent Night:** In which Dirge and Scavenger receive some unexpected help.

* * *

"Some gingko walk this turned out to be," Scavenger muttered as they stumbled down the shale slope toward the ruins.

"You did not find inspiration?" Dirge asked. He was leaning heavily on Scavenger's arm, energon oozing from bites all over his frame. He'd been covered in leeches too, and the attack had left them both critically low on fuel.

"Maybe enough for a eulogy," Scavenger snorted.

Dirge gave a low huff, a sound which Scavenger had come to recognize as a chuckle. "There is nothing wrong with eulogies. Mine, in fact, are the best ever heard."

Scavenger narrowed his optics. "Really?"

"Aye. When I used to evocate funerals, there would not be a dry optic in the entire Temple."

"Bet I could do better."

"Are you challenging me?"

"What if I am?"

"Then my task is complete."

There was a twinkle in Dirge's optics, and Scavenger felt a quick, sharp pulse from the vicinity of his spark. It was a strange feeling. A _new_ feeling. His spark had never done anything like that before. Was there something wrong with it? He decided to ask Hook to examine it when they got back to the warren. _If_ they got back.

A hum broke the silence, and they glanced up to see Buzzsaw wheeling against the galactic hub. The small, birdlike Decepticon circled, then flew back toward the inhabited part of the ruins.

"Frag! As if this night couldn't get any worse."

"He will not say anything."

"How do _you_ know?"

"I _suspect_ he won't, though we should get undercover as quickly as possible."

They hobbled down into the ruins. The ancient city's shadows enclosed them, its silence broken only by the ring of their footsteps on the cracked pavement, and by Dirge's labored ventilations. He was in more pain than he was letting on, Scavenger thought. It worried him, though there was little he could do. He began to sing, crooning a cradle-song that his carrier had once sung to him. After a while Dirge joined, their voices forming a pleasant harmony in the deep stillness. It was Dirge who noticed Buzzsaw's return.

"Hush!" he ordered, though it was, of course, too late. Buzzsaw dropped from the sky to hover in front of them and gave a low squawk. Scavenger took aim with his pistol, but Buzzsaw merely cocked his head, studying them with one bright optic, then took off again. The rumble of engines signaled their impending fate.

"It's me they want," Scavenger said. "You should—"

"Scavvie!" A flying shape crashed into his chest, knocking him flat.

" _Bonecrusher_?"

Bonecrusher retracted his mask. "You dumb-aft! What the Pit were you thinking? When the Vulture went after you, we thought—" he broke off and glanced up, seeming to notice Dirge for the first time. "Well, frag me with a rusty pile-driver," he growled.

He leaped up, pulling Scavenger with him, and waved down the other four Constructicons as they came around the corner. "Guys, look!" he bellowed. "The Vulture saved our Scavvie!"


	9. Fortune

**Fortune:** In which Scavenger turns over a new leaf.

* * *

Scavenger dipped the ladle in the crucible, then carefully poured molten lead into the bucket of ice water. The fiery liquid hissed as it struck the water. He waited a moment, then reached in and pulled out the solidified metal.

"The shape it makes is supposed to tell your fortune."

"And what fortune do you see in that shape?" Dirge asked

Scavenger turned it over in his palm. "A gingko leaf." He'd seem them in pictures, and though the resemblance wasn't exact, it was definitely there. "Here, you try," he said, pushing the crucible to Dirge.

They were back at the warren, seated in a place of honor near the brazier. Their bites were covered with nanite patches to speed the healing process, and Scavenger's tanks were as close to full as they ever got these days. He watched contentedly as Dirge copied his actions and came up with an oval-shaped lead pellet. Dirge held it to the light, frowning.

Bonecrusher leaned in for a closer look. "Oh hey! It looks like that Insecticon, Bombshell!"

"It does?" Dirge sounded doubtful.

"It looks like a scarab," Scavenger said. "Like the one you gave me."

Dirge's optics widened. "So it does." He smiled, and Scavenger's spark gave another funny little wobble.

"Give it here," Bonecrusher demanded, reaching for the crucible. "Can't let the lead get cold!"

As Dirge handed it over, Scavenger noticed how carefully Bonecrusher took it, as if he was afraid his hands might accidentally touch Dirge's. Scavenger shifted closer and deliberately leaned into Dirge. Bonecrusher gaped, then yelped indignantly as Mixmaster snatched the crucible from his hands.

Each member of the Constructicon team took a turn, laughing as they debated what the shapes meant, while Mixmaster made the rounds with spiced energon and a tray of his marvelous oilcakes. Long Haul began to sing a traditional work-ballad, and as the others joined in, Scavenger asked Dirge, "Will you stay a while longer?"

"If you'll have me."

Scavenger's spark jumped again. He really _would_ have to get that looked at… later. He reached into his subspace and took out his poetry book. He flipped through it until he came to the final poem, the one he'd read in the Crypt as a tribute to Starscream. He'd thought it would be his last poem, and it still was. He turned to the blank page that had been staring back at him for the past few orns, daring him to make a mark. He drew out his stylus, and began writing.

 _From the crucible_  
 _A new leaf comes, molten lead—_  
 _Turning a fresh page!_

He stared at his words. They looked stark and new, his writing unfamiliar. Was it wrong to move on like this? Only time would tell. Beside him, Dirge was humming in tune with the ballad. Scavenger tucked the leaf into the book to mark his place, and joined in.

 _We're in uncharted territory,_ he thought. But after the energon leeches and the giant spider, he wasn't too worried.


End file.
